Empty
by A.H.22
Summary: Greg Lestrade has been struggling after his recent divorce. However a chance encounter in a coffee house with one Mycroft Holmes, could change this.


I feel empty. Emptiness is all around me. Empty beer cans, empty takeout containers, empty house. Empty. I miss her. Well… I don't miss her, I miss having someone that loved me and that certainly wasn't her. No, she only loved herself. She cheated, and cheated, and cheated; I stayed with her, and pretended not to know about the affairs. I pretended I didn't notice the love bites that appeared on her neck after I'd pulled an all-nighter at work. I pretended I didn't notice the mysterious new tie that found itself under our bed. I pretended not to notice the smile she would wear when she would text him on her phone. I thought I could put up with that; we had promised 'til death do us part, and all. But she didn't love me. So here I am, surrounded by empty. Empty. More empty and after I finish this can of beer… more fuckin' empty.

I can hear the soft sounds of the television lulling me to sleep, volume turned down low, yet just loud enough to offer background noise for this wholly effective pity party I have found myself at. Why? Why wasn't I good enough for her?

I open my eyes. Shit. No, no, no. I snap my eyes tightly shut with a groan. The sunlight streaming through the window offering me no joy, only furthering to worsen my headache. I move to get out of bed, only realising too late that, once again, I fell asleep on the couch; a fact I'll be reminded about through the day thanks to the crick in my neck, and the sore back I can already feel. I move through my flat, thankful for once I haven't bothered to buy much furniture, as at least it guarantees that I won't walk into the bloody stuff. That is something I will have to buy on my next day off though. I'm too old to live in a flat without home décor and believe it to be acceptable; maybe I can convince the kids to help me pick things out when I get them back from the bitch that is their mother.

I spend too long in the comforting heat of the shower, leaving me no time to have breakfast before I have to be at the yard. I run out of the flat, thankful that I live no more than a ten minute walk from work/ I decide I will stop off somewhere and get a coffee, that will hopefully get my brain function somewhere near that of a human before I have to settle in for a day of paperwork.

I walk into the coffee house, the strong smell already working wonders on my pounding head. I stare at the food counter as I walk towards the tills. I wasn't looking where I was going so really there should have been o surprise when I walked into someone, spilling their coffee.

"Shit," I exclaimed "I'm so sorry mate. I'll buy you another one, what did you have?" I say all this whilst pulling out my wallet already prepared to buy this man, this rather attractive man, a new coffee. Shit. I didn't say that. Attractive? When did that happen? My eyes had already raked over his body too many times before they reached his face.

"That's quite alright Detective Inspector," Mycroft hummed. "There is no need for that."

"No please Mycroft, let me buy you another drink, I feel really shit about spilling that last one." I let out with a chuckle, my eyes struggling to meet the icy blue of the elder Holmes brother. Butterflies fill my stomach, and a peculiar film of sweat coats my palms. But that's just because I'm nervous right? It's got absolutely nothing to do with the tall, dark, and rather handsome man standing right before me. No. I'm still technically married after all, the divorce papers haven't even gone through yet. It's far too soon for me to be imagining spending any more time with this impeccably dressed man. That suit would look good rumpled beside my bed though… No, pull yourself together Lestrade. I can see the indecision playing across Mycroft's face. Deciding I can't let him leave yet I move closer, leaning in to him. "Please let me make it up to you," I murmur. I'm taking a risk, I know I am. But I have to. I never noticed before how magnificent this man before me was, and I don't even know if he's single, or gay actually, but in this moment I need him.

Mycroft glances past my shoulder. "My car is here Detective Inspector, I fear I will not be able to join you for a coffee today, for which I do apologise…"

"Can I have your number?" I blurt out before I even have time to think.

Mycroft raises one of his impeccable eyebrows "Whatever for Inspector Lestrade?"

"Ehm, shit. I mean… I was… I…. Have dinner with me Mycroft? Please?" I'm begging him. I am begging Mycroft Holmes… for a date; strangely that thought makes me happy.

Mycroft looks taken aback and my heart drops down into my chest. Beating, beating, beating as I await his reply. However as quickly as it appeared that look is gone, and soon it is replaced with a smirk. "Are you asking me on a date Detective Inspector?" Mycroft preened.

"Ehm, yeah? Is that okay?" I ask

Mycroft says nothing but his smile widens. "I do believe it is Detective Inspector."

"If we go on this date are you still going to insist on calling me Detective Inspector? Or will you, finally, call me Greg?" I question, barely able to comprehend that this fine man may actually say yes.

I have known Mycroft for years, ever since I arrested Sherlock; we have become something like friends, both Mycroft and Sherlock have come to fill unexpected roles in my life. The younger Holmes and his penchant for crime solving and questionable life choices only furthering to develop my budding friendship with his older brother.

Mycroft lets out a soft chuckle, "well Gregory, I do believe I have a free evening this Friday night. I shall be in touch. Goodbye."

Before I have time to respond the older Holmes brother is already retreating out of the coffee house and into his mysterious all black car. I stand there dazed for a second, my brain barely working fast enough, thanks to the early hour, and excessive alcohol still clouding my mind. But gradually a smile appears on my face. It stays there as I order my coffee and it's still there as I walk into work. I walk towards my office, a swagger in my step that hasn't been there in years. Because I can feel that this Friday night will change my life. And finally I may not feel so empty.


End file.
